


If Home Is Where the Heart Is, Why Do I Feel So Fucking Heartless?

by iamursforevrmre



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Derek Leaves, Dog Jokes, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 04:09:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamursforevrmre/pseuds/iamursforevrmre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b><i>LOST DOG</i><br/>-responds to Derek, Sourwolf, and Jerkwad<br/>-has black fur/looks kinda like a wolf<br/>-very shy and nervous around strangers<br/>-approach with caution<br/>-if found, please contact Stiles Stilinski</b>
</p><p> </p><p>takes place after season 3a.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Home Is Where the Heart Is, Why Do I Feel So Fucking Heartless?

“Derek is gone,” Scott tells Stiles over the phone. The words hang in the air and Scott is silent as he lets Stiles process the information. Stiles can’t even get any words out, it feels like the darkness that was looming over his heart has expanded and is squeezing around his lungs.

“What do you mean _gone_.” Stiles chokes out. He can’t wrap his head around this; Stiles and Derek were finally becoming really good friends; they finally got passed their awkward _why-do-you-keep-saving-me_ stage of their relationship to hanging out mostly every weekend.

Stiles and Derek actually got along really well; they bickered about almost everything but Derek’s banter was always witty and he so much different than the brooding werewolf Scott and Stiles ran into a couple years ago. 

Stiles is pretty sure he was half in love with Derek before. But he _left_ without any sort of _goodbye_ and he can feel the darkness around his heart growing and growing, spreading faster and faster inside of his body like a wildfire.

“His loft is empty and Isaac said he feels this pull, like he knows Derek isn’t here,” Scott’s voice is soft, like he’s trying to soften the blow from the news but it isn’t helping. At all. “I’m so sorry, Stiles.”

“Why are you sorry? I thought you didn’t like him.” Stiles mumbles, kicking his foot against the pavement of his driveway.

“Stiles, I know how you feel about him.” 

“I-I don’t know wh-”

“Don’t even. I know shit has been crazy lately and we haven’t had bro time, but you’re my best friend, dude.”

Stiles sighs over the line, “Okay, look, dude, I gotta go.”

“Call me back if you’re feeling destructive.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, but smiles, despite the darkness, shoving it back down to a reasonable size. Stiles says their goodbyes and can’t help but feel angry again; it took him and Scott three seconds to say goodbye to each other. Why couldn’t Derek take a few seconds to shoot off a text or call him before leaving to fuck knows where?

And then Stiles suddenly gets an idea. He grins off into space before slamming the door to his Jeep shut and running back into the house and up into his room. He power up his laptop, cracks his knuckles, and smugly smirks at the screen.

 

*

 

His dad is the first one to confront him about it. It’s when Stiles busts through the door after school and tosses his backpack down on the stairs and runs into the kitchen. Stiles notices his dad after he rifles through the fridge; he’s sitting at the table with his Sheriff Face on.

“Uh oh,” Stiles breathes out, “What’d I do?”

His dad smacks a piece of paper down on the table with a pointed look telling Stiles that he better explain _what the hell is going on right this fucking instance_. Stiles moves closer with a spiteful smile, getting a good look at the paper even though he knows what’s on there. It’s one of the few flyers he posted around town.

**_LOST DOG_  
-responds to Derek, Sourwolf, and Jerkwad  
-has black fur/looks kinda like a wolf  
-very shy and nervous around strangers  
-approach with caution  
-if found, please contact Stiles Stilinski**

“Stiles. What the hell.”

Stiles drops down in his seat and keeps his eyes on the paper, trying to avoid his dad, because he will see _right through_ Stiles’ poor attempt at humor.

“You know how many deputies have asked me when I got a dog named Derek?” He asks, and Stiles can hear him sigh, his voice dropping to a much gentler tone, “Stiles, does Derek Hale leaving have to do with how mopey you’ve been these past few days?”

Stiles scratches the back of his head, finally looking up to see his Sheriff Face has been replaced by concern. 

“Yeah, maybe.” 

“Kid, what happened?”

“Derek left. I just - he - Dad, he just left and I don’t know how to deal with it.” Stiles looks back down at the stupid flyer and now he wants to rip it up instead of giggle. He threads his fingers through his hand and tugs to get some frustration out.

“You care about him.” His dad sighs, “Kid, sometimes there is something good that comes out of ‘goodbye’.”

“But that’s the thing, dad! He _didn’t_ say goodbye. He didn’t say anything! He just _left_ like no one here even matters to him.”

 

*

 

Nights are the worst. Stiles lets the darkness around his heart spread into the rest of the body and he feels so _alone_. He can’t help but let the unpleasant thoughts he’s been blocking the whole day seep into his mind.

He rolls on his side to stretch over to snatch his phone off the nightstand and he scrolls through his contacts. His finger hovers over Derek’s name before he sighs and presses the home button. 

Stiles wishes he could just man up and call him, like he always used to when he was having a particularly bad night. Derek would always answer, sounding deliciously adorable and his voice was always rough with sleep, and talk Stiles out of whatever funk he was in that particular night.

He looks through the messages left in his draft, all of the messages that he was about to send Derek but punked out at the last second. But, realistically, Stiles thinks, Derek should contact him. He’s the one that left, he’s the one that owes Stiles an explanation.

He tosses his phone across the room, rolls over on his stomach, and buries his head in his pillow and screams.

Stiles just wants to know if Derek’s okay. For all he knows, Peter cleaned up Derek’s apartment because Derek rolled over and died somewhere. He just wants to know that Derek is live and well; that he and Cora are _happy_.

Stiles doesn’t know what’s worse. Picturing Derek six feet under somewhere, that while he was trying to get out of town, something happened. Deucalion was hiding in the woods on the edge of town, waiting for Derek to make his escape before he pounced. Or Derek coming home from work, tossing his keys on the kitchen table, and wandering over to wrap his arms around a beautiful redhead making dinner for them. She giggles when he nuzzles into her neck, whispering that he loves her. 

He can feel the tears threatening to spill out of his eyes, but he squeezes them shut and prays for sleep.

 

*

 

The second person to confront him is Scott at school the next day. Stiles really isn’t ready for this confrontation; he knows he has bags under his eyes and he feels like he’s going to snap at any second.

“Dude,” And that’s all Scott says. Stiles can read between the lines, he knows the unspoken _you’re worrying me_ and he knows that he’s referring to the flyers he stapled around town.

Stiles is really starting to regret doing that. It was funny at the time, because he felt so bitter and knew how much Derek hated dog jokes, but now it seems so dumb. Derek most likely isn’t even going to see one anyways, because he knows his dad has been tearing them down every time he sees one.

Scott must be able to tell that Stiles doesn’t want to talk about it because he just slings an arm around his shoulders and starts telling Stiles about the prank a Sophomore pulled on Harris this morning by putting a dead frog in his desk drawer to protest against dissection.

“I’m not really sure what it accomplished,” Scott shrugs, “But I was able to hear him shriek like a little girl when I was parking my bike this morning.”

Stiles snorts and lets Scott steer him to English across the building.

 

*

 

No matter how dumb he knows the flyer idea was, he still jumps every time he hears the phone ring or rushes to the door every time someone knocks on the door. Stiles can’t help but hope it’s Derek; that he’s calling or coming to bitch Stiles out on how _stupid_ dog jokes are and that he’s such an idiot for even thinking that this would be a remotely good idea posting around town. 

Derek’s never on the phone. He’s never on the other side of the door either.

It’s been months and Stiles still doesn’t know for sure or not if he’s even _alive_.

 

*

 

The third person to say something is one of the deputy’s daughters. Stiles runs into her when he’s leaving the Station after delivering lunch for his dad. She grabs onto Stiles’ sleeve and tugs until he looks down at her. She has her hair curly brown hair pulled in a loose braid sloppily thrown over her right shoulder and she looks at Stiles with wide, blue eyes. 

“I hope you find your pup,” She tells him sincerely, gripping onto his sleeve like it’s important that Stiles knows she wants him to find his dog. 

“Thanks, Mac.” He squats down so he’s at eye level with her, “I hope I find him too.”

“We lost our kitty once,” She tells Stiles, “And I thought she would never come home cause she thought we didn’t love her. But she ended up finding her way back home because she knew that we love her, Stiles, she came _back_.”

“I’m happy your kitty came home, but I don’t think my pup will be back,” Stiles told her sadly.

“Don’t give up, Stiles,” She tells him seriously, her grip loosening on his sleeve. She darts in to give Stiles a quick kiss on the cheek. “Your pup will come back home to you because he loves you.”

 

*

 

Stiles wants the darkness to go away. He wants the nauseating feeling of _loss_ to go away. He wants to able to breathe properly again instead of driving on the street leading to Derek’s old loft or looking at his phone or watching Scott’s irises bleed to red and feel like his lungs are collapsing. 

Months keep passing and the darkness is starting to get insufferable. 

 

*

Stiles is spread out on the couch in the living room flicking through different movies he has queued when he hears a _thud_ come from his room upstairs. He sighs, pulls himself up, and starts trudging upstairs.

 “C’mon, Sco-” But when Stiles opens his door, Scott didn’t just tumble through his window. Derek’s standing there; his hair is a little longer and his face doesn’t look as pinched and angry. He has laugh lines around his eyes and he looks a lot happier than he did before he left. 

“Derek,” He breathes out, blinking a few times to make sure he hasn’t gotten to a point in his life where he starts hallucinating.

“Stiles. Really?” Derek holds up a wrinkled piece of paper that half of the ink running down the page from the storm last night.

“No.”

“No what?”

“No.” Stiles clenched his fists at his sides. “You don’t get to come here with that grumpy face and be mad at me. _No_. You _left_ , Derek. You left without so much of a _goodbye_ and you just. Derek not even a month ago, the whole pack thought you were _dead_. What if you actually were dead? What then?”

“Stiles, I understand that -” Derek tried to cut into his rant.

“Oh, no, I don’t think so, buddy. You _do not_ understand. You don’t understand what the hell it’s like to lay in that bed at night, unable to sleep at night, because you think that the person you’re _in love_ with could be dead in a fucking _ditch_ in goddamned _Idaho_!”

Stiles stalks out of his bedroom, fuming, trying to get away from Derek. He spent so many months wishing Derek were here, and now that he is, Stiles doesn’t want to be anywhere near him. He can hear Derek trailing him, and he knows that trying to outrun Derek is useless but he tries anyway. Stiles can hear Derek calling his name, but he wants to get out of here, he wants to take a run and forget this past year. 

Derek grabs his sleeve when he reaches the front door and tugs so they’re face to face again.

“Stiles, _please_ , just listen to me,” Derek pleads, eyes wide and earnest. Stiles can’t feel anything but the overwhelming want to punch him in the nose.

“Maybe I would listen to you if you used your goddamn phone to let me know that you were _alive_ , you asshole.”

“I know I was wrong! _Everything_ I do is wrong, I just,” Derek squeezes his eyes shut, “I came back for you, okay?”

“Wh-what?” Stiles stutters out, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

“I love you,” Derek opens his eyes to look at him, “I love you and it was _so wrong_ of me to leave without saying anything to you, but I. I _needed_ to leave.”

“Why did you need to leave?”

“So I could let go of everything, especially my guilt. I just. I needed to leave so I could become a better person for you.”

“But you’re back now?” Stiles whispers, watching Derek’s face fill with emotion. He doesn’t shut it down and wipe it blank like he’s used to. Derek lets Stiles read every emotion off his facial and body language.

“For good.” He whispers back.

Stiles launches himself at Derek, wrapping his arms around his neck and attacking his mouth. Stiles can feel the moment Derek doesn’t know what the hell is going on before he wraps his around around Stiles’ waist and starts to return the kiss.

“You’re still such an asshole and I’m so mad,” Stiles says against his lips. Derek makes a noise of agreement before he’s latching onto Stiles’ mouth again; Stiles can feel his heart pounding as Derek flicks his tongue against Stiles’ and he starts mapping out his mouth. Stiles pulls away to laugh breathlessly and Derek moves in to nuzzle into his neck.

“Love you,”

“Love you, too.” Stiles breathes out, “Just don’t leave me again.”

“Never.”

 

*

 

“Hey Stiles!” Mac bounds up with an ice cream cone melting in her hand. She grins, showing her dimples, “Sheriff told mommy and mommy told me! I’m so happy that your pup came home! See, I _told_ you not to give up!”

“Yeah, Mac,” Stiles grins, threading his fingers into Derek’s, “You were right.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know anymore.


End file.
